


honey-tongued

by Anonymous



Series: the knismollymauk agenda [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Aftercare, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, M/M, Massage, Non-Sexual Kink, Teasing, Tickle torture, Tickling, twenty. charisma.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29911554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Can't you stay still?" Fjord asks, sounding distracted.Molly lets out a huff, wills his limbs to stay still. Fjord’s kind of a dumbass sometimes, but this has to be a new low. "Sorry, sorry, s’ just - you’re - you’re still t-tickling me."Fjord says, "Am I?"
Relationships: Fjord & Mollymauk Tealeaf, Fjord/Mollymauk Tealeaf
Series: the knismollymauk agenda [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178735
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34
Collections: Anonymous





	honey-tongued

**Author's Note:**

> not really romantic/sexual but rated m for kink and some serious homoeroticism.
> 
> hit me up with any requests on [tumblr](https://ticklishnonsense.tumblr.com/)
> 
> HEY. CHOCK DREW [SOME ART](https://chockfullofsecrets.tumblr.com/post/645224985677512704/me-obsessing-over-ticklishnonsenses-absolute) FOR THIS. GO LOOK AT IT. I'VE LOOKED AT THIS FOR FIVE HOURS NOW

Molly is kind of a shit roommate, so he probably doesn't deserve this.

He definitely isn't stopping Fjord, though. Fjord is tall and handsome and deft with his hands, and, when he saw Molly wincing and trying to rub his own sore shoulder muscles before bed, he had _offered,_ and now - well.

Now Fjord has laid Molly out facedown on one of the beds in their inn room, and he's standing next to him and giving him what's maybe the best massage of his life. He's been rubbing slowly at his shoulders for a while, working the tension out of Molly's scarred and inked skin. Molly had started out wondering what Fjord's game was. Did he want something? Was he just being genuinely nice? But by now Mollymauk isn't thinking much of anything at all.

Fjord digs his thumbs into Molly's traps. Molly moans in delight, and maybe it comes out a little more sexual-sounding than he intended, but, whatever. He isn't above troublemaking. Molly doesn’t have a _crush_ on Fjord, per se, but he has _eyes._

"Feels good, huh?" says Fjord, in his low drawl.

Incidentally, Molly also has _ears._

"Yeah," he manages to gasp out. Fjord's strong hands work their way over his shoulders, firm enough to sway back and forth between pleasure and pain, and Mollymauk lets his brain fuzz out.

At least, he fuzzes out until Fjord starts working his way down to Molly's lower back. Molly grits his teeth, but Fjord seems to catch his sudden tension. His hands still. "You alright?"

"Mm. Sorry, just tender."

"Huh. You don’t seem sensitive anywhere else."

It’s not a question, so Mollymauk doesn’t answer. Fjord palpates his lower back a few times on either side of the spine, and then grasps Molly’s sides and starts massaging his way up them. Molly goes stiff again, despite his best efforts. "Molly?" Fjord says.

Just then, his hands get to Molly’s ribs. A snicker bursts from Molly’s throat before he can catch it. "Oh," says Fjord, "I see."

"Don’t mind me," Molly assures him, sounding casual. So casual. Extremely casual.

"Ticklish, are you?" Fjord murmurs.

Molly breathes in, out. Licks his lips, which have gone suddenly dry. "Just a bit. Carry on, carry on."

"Sure," Fjord agrees. "You cool with taking off your shirt? It's easier to find knots if I can see."

Mollymauk is pretty sure that doesn't track, but, hell, if they're doing the homoeroticism thing then why half-ass it. He struggles out of his shirt, shivers just a little bit in the heavy air of the room. His limbs are jellied enough that the cuffs get caught around his hands, and Fjord reaches up to help him pull it all the way off. Molly isn’t that small, but his wrists still look slender in Fjord’s hands. Homoeroticism, indeed.

Unfortunately, the shirt was the only protection Molly had. It’d be hard enough if Fjord’s hands were on his shoulders, but he doesn’t even have that small mercy: Fjord is massaging slow and regular at his lats, and his hands are cool and _achingly_ ticklish against Molly’s warm tiefling skin. Molly tenses his jaw, forcing his involuntary laughter down. And he crosses his arms over his head, clenching his fists to keep himself from yanking his arms down to cover his sides. But there’s nothing he can do about his aborted little jerks when Fjord’s fingers send little _zings_ of ticklishness shooting through him.

"Can't you stay still?" Fjord asks, sounding distracted.

Molly lets out a huff, wills his limbs to stay still. Fjord’s kind of a dumbass sometimes, but this has to be a new low. "Sorry, sorry, s’ just - you’re - you’re still t-tickling me."

Fjord says, "Am I?"

"…Oh my god," says Molly, strangled, as it dawns on him. "Wait, oh my god, you're doing this on purpose, you asshole - _nngh-"_

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Fjord tells Molly, and then squeezes gently at his ribcage again. His voice is low, honeyed, and absolutely _evil._ Molly goes cold all over with dread.

And then Fjord curls his hands into loose fists and _fits his knuckles into the grooves of Molly’s ribs, and -_ okay, Molly is kind of a shit roommate, but he doesn't deserve _this._ "Fjord," he gasps. "Fjord, wait, I don't deserve this."

"Mm, I think you do," Fjord says. "You’re kind of a shit roommate."

He kneads slowly, knuckles pressing into Molly’s ribs on one side and then the other, and it _shouldn't_ be so devastating, Molly's had way worse and he's not even outright laughing, but he's still wobbly and boneless from the massage and he feels like he's dissolving. He gathers up what breath he can and stutters out, "D-did you - _hhahhhh_ \- you son of a - _hngh_ \- were you _planning-"_ Fjord makes a mock questioning noise, oozing smugness. Molly gives up and just groans, "what the _hell."_

"Well, a little bird told me you're ticklish as hell," Fjord tells him, easing off on his ribs. Molly can't see his face, but he can hear his smile. "Can't hardly blame me for wanting to see for myself."

 _"Veth,"_ Molly mutters, feeling extremely betrayed.

"Cad, actually. Said it was a good way to quiet you down. Veth tickles you too?"

Fjord hasn't actually stopped tickling him. He fingers at Molly's sides, first one, then the other. Just slow, light forefinger-and-thumb pinches at the dip just beneath his ribs. Molly trembles. It’s almost _easier_ when he’s getting absolutely destroyed, when he can just lose himself in laughter and flailing. Right now, he feels like Fjord is unraveling him one twitch at a time.

He manages to get out, "I mean. Not _regularly."_

"Mm." Fjord catches hold of his tail, tickles along its length for a moment, and then releases it as Molly curses softly. "Anyone else?"

Molly runs through the Nein in his head, with a growing knot of dread in the pit of his stomach. "…I think Beau doesn't know? I feel like sh-she'd," he inhales a shaky breath, "take more advantage of - _hffh-"_

"…Just Beau?"

Molly makes a pained noise, and it’s only in part because Fjord is idly tracing over one rib at a time with a single fingertip.

Fjord chuckles. "So, pretty much _everyone_ knows you're this ticklish."

As Fjord says that last word, he smooths his thumb over Molly’s back at the dip of his waist. Molly shudders all the way from the nape of his neck down to his curling toes. "Y’know, it'd be a - a little easier for me if, if you stopped _saying_ it."

"Would it?" says Fjord, indifferently.

_Oh._

_Oh, fuck._

Against his bare back, Molly feels the warmth of Fjord’s body grow closer as he leans down. Maybe an inch from his ear, Fjord whispers,

_"Tickle, tickle, Mollymauk."_

Molly’s body tries to jackknife, curling himself up like a shrimp in response - but Fjord is close on top of him and Molly is half-melted and Fjord has gotten his hands into Molly’s underarms. Pinned down like this, he can’t get his arms down to his sides, so he’s reduced to hiccupy little giggles as Fjord worries at the hollows. "Ticklish here, too, eh?"

 _"Sh-shutup,"_ Molly pleads.

It’s hardly his cleverest retort, especially with the stuttered giggle. Fjord snorts. "Oh, would you prefer I said _'sensitive?'"_ Molly can hear the teasy smile in his voice, and the tone wriggles its way under his skin. "Heh. Must drive you nuts, that we’ve been talking about how ticklish you are behind your back. You really are, though. It’s useful," he adds, in a contemplative tone. His fingers linger in Molly’s armpits, tapping down against the skin one finger at a time, stroking a quick swipe here or there. Above his head, Molly is gripping the sheets for dear life, forearms trembling as they flex and unflex. He whines out a few desperate, disjointed syllables. Fjord doesn’t even pause. "You’re very cooperative like this. Should tickle the snark out of you more often."

Abruptly, Fjord stops, and Molly makes a little frantic noise. This is almost worse. _"What?"_

"Are you _blushing?"_ Fjord says, sounding incredulous. He takes Molly’s ear in his hand. Goosebumps spring up down the side of Molly’s neck. "Well, I’ll be damned. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you _or_ Jester do that before."

He strokes the shell of Molly’s ear with his thumb. Molly spasms, violently.

"Ah-ah," Fjord _tsk’_ s. "You aren’t going anywhere."

He takes one of Molly’s horns in his free hand, and that’d be _extremely_ rude if Molly weren’t feeling so _extremely_ okay with it. With the other hand, he keeps playing with Molly’s ear. Molly quavers under him. He feels like a prey animal.

"Huh," says Fjord. "That’s a blush, alright. S’ kind of a reddish-purple."

He lets go of Molly’s ear, and brushes his fingers over the back of Molly’s neck to make him shudder before he lets go of his horn too. Molly lets out a long _whoosh_ of breath.

Halfway through, his exhale turns into a squeak. Fjord is gently bundling him over onto his back. He lifts Molly with a grunt, takes a seat on the side of the bed, and lays Molly back down over his lap. Molly blinks up at him, too discombobulated to gather up any semblance of a fight. His heart is thumping with nerves, but the feather-light tickling has made mush of his limbs and thoughts alike. "Huh?" he says, eloquently.

"Keep your arms up," Fjord instructs him. Molly raises his arms obediently and tucks them behind his head - and then wonders why the _hell_ he did that. Something about Fjord’s steady authority. "Good boy," Fjord says, approving, and Molly can _feel_ him watching as goosebumps spring up down his chest at the words.

He opens his mouth to retort something extremely witty - just in time to lose all semblance of coherent thought as Fjord puts his hands on his bare tummy.

"Bet you’re pretty ticklish here," Fjord tells him. He brushes the corner of his thumb against Molly's abs, and when a giggle bursts from Molly’s lips, Fjord laughs at him.

That's when the real torture starts. That’s when Fjord places his index finger on Mollymauk’s stomach and starts tracing figure eights with a slow, even motion, leaving snail-trails of prickly goosebumps in its wake. And then he rests all five fingers in a circle around Molly’s navel, draws his fingers close together and watches Molly suck in his gut involuntarily, spreads them apart again. And then he repeats the motion here and there, inside the jut of his hipbone, over his abs just below his sternum, playing Molly’s bare stomach like a piano as tiny squirms rush down his body.

Worst of all, Fjord never stops talking, and it keeps Molly focused enough to feel _everything,_ denying him even the luxury of losing himself in it: "There too, huh? How about - mm, eyup. Fuckin’ squirmy. Should tickle you whenever you talk some shit. Don’t even need to pin you down for it - oh, _there?_ Jeez, Tealeaf, you’re ticklish just about everywhere, aren’t you…"

It’s not even enough to get Molly properly _laughing._ It’s not unexpected or fast or harsh enough for him to do more but gasp and whimper with continuous, tingling anticipation, and maybe the occasional _mmfh-hahah-!_ He just sprawls over Fjord’s lap and squeezes his eyes shut, arms pressed flat behind his head, toes kneading in tiny, desperate pushes against the sheets of the fucking _inn bed_ \- god, they’re at an _inn,_ he’s pretty sure the door isn’t even locked - anyone could walk in right now and see him like this, Fjord coaxing little tormented noises out of him with the most idle movements of his fingertips - anyone could _join in,_ he’d be helpless to stop them-

"Fjord," Molly rushes out between touches. "Fjord, come on,  _ please." _

Fjord arches an eyebrow down at him. He's got his fingernail in the dip just inside Molly's hipbone, tracing up and down with a soft, unbearable scritch. "Hmm? You want something?"

"Can, can you just-" Molly's stomach sucks in as Fjord smooths his hand over Molly's abs. "Give me a little -  _ hhfh _ \- more - p-please-

Fjord, who knows perfectly well what he's talking about, grasps Molly's waist in both hands. He says, "More…?"

"You _asshole,"_ Molly whines. He's slender, and Fjord's hands are big enough to nearly wrap all the way around, and thinking about _that_ isn't making him any less sensitive. Fjord's thumbs rest on either side of his belly button, and his fingers are spread loosely over Molly's back. He flutters them - and that's it, Molly is losing his fucking mind waiting for all this teasing to end, he just _needs-_ _"Ticklememore."_

"Hmm," says Fjord. "Ask me a little nicer."

_ "Please," _ Molly says immediately. He's arching up away from Fjord's fingers, and of course they're following him, one fingertip pressing in and wiggling here, another rubbing circles there. He'd be okay if Fjord would just pin him down and tickle him to pieces - it's all this  _ slow teasing _ that- "Just -  _ mmh _ \- a little bit, please -  _ hhah _ \- Fjord, a little h-harder, I, you're driving me crazy-"

"Yeah, you do sound pretty desperate down there."

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck. _ If he keeps saying things like that Molly's going to get hard whether he likes it or not.

As it is, Fjord stays quiet for the moment. He tickles at Molly's back just as gently as anywhere else, and Molly twists and shivers and bursts out with the occasional tortured giggle or choked whimper. The moment stretches long enough that Molly wonders, desperately, if Fjord has decided to just  _ ignore _ Molly's plea, without even an acknowledgment.

And then, finally, in a smug voice that prickles down Molly's thighs and the back of his neck:

"Nah, I think this is enough for you."

He lets off on Molly's waist, and when his fingers start playing over Molly's chest, Molly _sobs._ He can’t help it - every nerve ending is on a hair trigger right now. The tiniest little feather-light caresses, one just shy of his underarm, one flicking over the dip of his collarbone, still prickle across his shoulders and down his thighs to curl in his toes.

 _"You’re gonna kill me,"_ he manages to choke out.

Fjord hums agreement. "But you don’t actually want me to stop, do you."

Molly doesn’t answer.

Fjord’s fingers still. "Do you," he repeats. Through the haze, Molly realizes that he’s being offered an out.

Fuck.

It isn’t even a question - Molly _always_ wants to be tickled - he hasn’t asked Fjord to stop a single time, and he’s quite sure Fjord has noticed - it’s just - it’s the _admitting-_

Fjord is still waiting, hands resting still on either side of Molly’s chest. Molly inhales a deep breath and then groans out, "J-just get it over with." He shifts slightly in Fjord’s lap. "Please."

 _Pretty please,_ echoes the horrible, traitorous part of his tiefling brain that’s going to be thinking about this for the rest of his life.

"Heh. Yeah, I didn’t think so."

Molly flushes hot, deep purple all the way down his chest as Fjord’s fingers start moving again.

Mollymauk can _deal_ with tickling, alright. Molly’s been tickled stupid, tickled into incoherent sobs, tickled til he’s too exhausted even to struggle. And yeah, it drives him nuts, it _is_ tickling, but he’s still tiefling enough to love every second. Molly can deal with tickling.

Molly can deal with _most_ tickling.

Fjord flutters his fingers over both Molly’s sides at once, and Molly’s pretty sure his synapses short out as his whole body arches.

"It’s gonna come home to roost someday, you know," Fjord says casually, as he gently curls his fingers under Molly’s ribcage. "You get under people’s skin. You’re a ticklish little fucker and we all know about it. Can’t possibly hope to fight all your friends off at once, especially when I can already get you like _this_ just by my lonesome. Do the math."

Molly, with what brain capacity hasn’t been fritzed away by Fjord’s honey-smooth words and all the fucking _tickling,_ does the math.

He _whimpers._ Fjord laughs at him and tweaks his ribs, sending a jolt down each of his limbs. _"Fjord,"_ Molly gasps out. _"Why are you doing this."_

"Oh, I dunno, you kinda deserve it? You really are the _worst_ roommate."

What feels like _hours_ later, when Mollymauk is addled and floating and barely even notices that Fjord has stopped actually tickling, Fjord adds, "You _do_ deserve this." It’s less wry this time, more affectionate. "Caduceus said you came to him and asked to get tickled. Pretty bold."

"Hnnh, s’nicesmtimes," Molly slurs.

Fjord pats his stomach. Molly sucks in a sharp breath, but no tickling follows. Fjord chuckles at him anyway, and observes, "You’re a mess, bud." He sounds fond. "Don’t worry, we’re done."

Molly draws in a long, shuddering breath, and then lets it all out. He’s starting to come down, but only enough to process what’s just happened to him. "Jesus fucking Christ," he breathes.

"Aw, don’t tell me you haven’t gotten it worse than that before."

"Harder, sure. _Worse?"_

He’s still in Fjord’s lap. Fjord ruffles his hair, and Mollymauk leans into it automatically. His brain feels like scrambled eggs. Something about tickling just strips away his capacity to resist touch, leaves him as affectionate and snuggly as a house cat. And Fjord is all big and manly and smells good, in ways that Molly notices even when he _hasn’t_ just been tickled senseless.

On impulse, Molly turns onto his side and nuzzles into Fjord’s hip. Fjord lets out a surprised _hff_ of his own - and _that’s_ something to experiment with, but, later, once Molly has control of his own limbs again - but he gathers Molly up in his arms, hugs him close. A tiny, deep-down part of Molly sighs in relief that he isn’t being left to recover alone.

"You didn’t want me to stop, though," Fjord points out. His chest rumbles against Molly’s cheek.

Molly grumbles at him, snuggles closer. And then, belatedly, he notices the faintest hint of uncertainty in Fjord’s voice. "Yeah, rub it in, big guy," he complains into Fjord’s pecs, hoping that’s enough to reassure him.

Sure enough, the easy confidence is right back in Fjord’s tone when he informs Mollymauk, "Well, you can get tickled more, if you’re still this mouthy."

 _"No,"_ Molly blurts out. "N-"

"You _do_ like it," Fjord reminds him. "It’d hardly even be a punishment, eh?"

"I - it’d still-"

"Mmhmm, mmhmm. Still think you’re gonna get your comeuppance from all of us someday." Fjord rubs Molly’s shoulder. "Kinda excited to see you trying to mouth off after _that."_

 _"Fjord,"_ says Molly, strangled. Those silky, wicked words are already starting to work their way under his skin again. "Thought you said you were _done-"_

"Ha, sorry, sorry," says Fjord. He doesn’t sound very sorry at all. He sounds like he’s biting back a smile. "You just make it so easy."

"I’ll - I’ll get you back someday, I will," Mollymauk tells him.

"Yeah? Tell me that again when you can say it without stumbling."

Molly makes the prudent decision not to answer that, and to, instead, press his face into Fjord’s shoulder and hope it masks his traitorous rising flush.

"I will, though," he adds after a moment.

"I’ll tell Beau you’re ticklish," says Fjord.

Molly’s eyes shoot open. "Don’t you fucking _dare,"_ and Fjord’s laughing at him all over again.


End file.
